Nobody's There (2 page)

“No. I didn't even think about it while I was throwing the rocks. It's just that when my father kissed her …” Abbie stopped speaking and looked down at her hands again, surprised that her fingers looked like twisted spiders' legs and her knuckles stood out like small white knobs.

“Do you regret what you've done?”

“No! I mean, I'm sorry I scared that woman's roommate. I didn't know she had a roommate. But I'm not going to apologize to my father or to … that woman.”

“Although you're a first-time offender, the response to teenagers' breaking the law is getting tougher and tougher.” The judge thought a moment, then asked, “Abbie, have you ever heard of deferred adjudication?”

She shook her head, and he answered, “
Adjudication
means my decision.
Deferred
means I can put off giving my decision.”

“I don't understand,” Abbie replied. “Why should you put off making a decision?”

“Because of what might take place in the meantime.” With a thump Judge Wilhite's boots
landed on the floor, and he leaned forward, elbows on his desk. “You're seventeen. Do you have a Texas driver's license?”

“Yes,” Abbie said.

“Is there an automobile at your disposal?”

Abbie shrugged. “Mom has let me drive her car when I have to stay late at school for something and can't take the school bus. When that happens she takes the city bus to the office where she works. She's in the finance department for a real estate company and—”

The judge waved his hand, and Abbie stopped in midsentence. “Do you have an after-school job?” he asked.

“No.”

“Extracurricular activities that keep you busy?”

“Not very busy. I'm in the choral group, and I thought about maybe signing up for yearbook staff.” Abbie shivered. She didn't know what the judge was trying to find out. Was she giving the wrong answers?

“Do you keep up your grades?”

Abbie ached as she stared into the judge's dark and penetrating eyes. He could read her mind. She was sure he could. So why was he asking so many questions? She took a deep breath and answered, “My grades have always been good—until lately. Lately, I haven't wanted to study. I haven't cared.”

Do you know what it's like to be considered a nothing—a nobody?
she thought.
Why should a nothing care about studying or grades or anything else?

Judge Wilhite bent over his desk, writing something. Abbie waited. Then he said, “I'm going to put you on probation for one year, Abigail. I'm going to give you a job to do, and you're going to show me that you can do it well. At the end of the year, under the decree of deferred adjudication, all record of your arrest will be wiped out. You'll have a clean slate. Got it?”

Abbie knew he was waiting for her to thank him. But she didn't care if she had a clean slate. She didn't care that he seemed to be doing her a huge favor. “What kind of a job?” she asked.

“The Buckler Women's Club has recently set up a program to aid elderly women in the community,” he said. “It's called Friend to Friend. Teenage volunteers are matched with older women who live alone. Each morning, at a set time, the girls telephone the women to make sure they're okay. Most of these women can no longer drive and they have no family member at hand to drive for them, so the girls take on this job. Two or three days a week after school or on weekends they drive the women to the grocery store, or sometimes to a department store, or to the senior citizens' center. Often, with their families, they take the women to church on Sundays.

“I think highly of this program,” Judge Wilhite added, “perhaps because my wife is president of Friend to Friend, and she tells me about the success stories they've had.”

Abbie stared at him. “You want me to take care of some old lady?”

“Not ‘some old lady.' One particular elderly
woman who needs assistance. You'll soon know her by name and become acquainted with her.”

“I haven't got time,” Abbie protested.

“Sure you have.”

Tears blurred Abbie's vision. With the back of one hand she wiped them away. “I know what you're doing,” she blurted out. “You're trying to keep me so busy I can't get into more trouble. For your information, I'm not going to throw rocks. I'm not going near that … that woman. I'm never going to see her or my father again.”

“That's up to you,” the judge said quietly. “I had hoped you'd understand what I'm trying to do for you. I'm not going to explain it to you. I'll let you figure it out yourself.”

As he stood and walked toward the door, Abbie realized he wanted her to leave. She stumbled to her feet and followed him.

“By noon tomorrow, you'll receive the name of the woman with whom you'll be paired. I want you to call on her. Visit her house, as soon as you've read the material in the packet. Got it?”

“Got it,” Abbie mumbled.

“Look at me, Abigail.”

Abbie raised her head and did as he had asked. She wished Judge Wilhite didn't look so much like her grandfather. Her grandfather had been kind and full of laughter and fun. He wouldn't have punished her by giving her a horrible job like this. But the judge had laugh lines around the corners of his mouth and eyes too. Maybe he liked to laugh. Maybe he had grandchildren. Tears burned her eyes again.

“I'm going to talk to your mother and father and to the attorneys out there. Please wait here with my secretary. It won't be long before you and your mother will be free to leave and go home,” the judge said.

Abbie nodded. The words escaped before she could stop them. “Thank you,” she said.

Judge Wilhite smiled, and all the crinkle lines deepened. “Wait until one year from now,” he said. “Then I think you'll really mean it.”

L
ater, as Abbie and her mother drove home, the sea air damp against their skin, they both cried a little.

“I guess I've been too concerned with my own problems. But I just can't believe that your father would—” Mrs. Thompson broke off, took a long breath, and said, “It has to be my fault. I've let you down.”

“No, you haven't, Mom. It's not your fault. It's Dad's. I hate him for leaving us, for not wanting us.”

Mrs. Thompson whirled to stare in surprise at Abbie. “Not wanting you?”

“Watch it, Mom! The light's changing.”

The car rocked as Mrs. Thompson slammed
her foot on the brake. “Listen to me, Abbie,” she said. “Your father wasn't leaving you and Davy. He loves you both.”

“No, he doesn't.”

“Yes, he does,” she answered, “as much as he can love anybody besides himself.”

Abbie sighed. “I don't want to talk about Dad, Mom. I can't take it. I don't want to talk about
anything.
”

Mrs. Thompson reached over and patted Abbie's arm. “All right, sweetheart. I understand.” She mumbled something under her breath, then glanced at the brightly lit numbers on the car's clock. “At least we'll be home before ten. Mrs. Erwin's staying with Davy, and she lets him stay up later than he should.”

As they turned into their driveway, Abbie broke her silence. “Mom,” she said, “do I have to do what the judge told me? I mean about baby-sitting some old—uh—elderly woman?”

“I'm afraid so, Abbie,” her mother answered. “Your father said he couldn't afford to help in getting you a secondhand car, which doesn't surprise me. Just look at the expensive sports car
he's
driving! So for a year you'll use my car on certain days after school and on Saturdays, and I'll catch the bus. That should make him happy. Well, never mind that he's no help and doesn't care. I care. I'm not going to let you be prosecuted for …”

Her voice broke, and it took a few moments before she could continue. She put on a light smile and the same aren't-we-going-to-love-this
tone she used with Davy every time she came up with some new healthful casserole. “The judge explained the Friend to Friend program, and it sounds okay. According to him, many of the girls and the women they're assigned to have become close friends.”

Close friends? Abbie hated the idea. She already had close friends. She didn't need new friends—especially women older than her own grandmothers.

But in the morning Judge Wilhite's wife telephoned early. Abbie was munching through a bowl of cereal and staring blankly at the row of small, colorful cream pitchers that marched across the kitchen windowsill, when the phone rang and she reached for it. “Hello,” she said. Overbright sunlight blasted through the window, ricocheting off the polished wooden table, and the blare of Davy's Saturday-morning cartoons made her head ache.

“I'm sorry,” Abbie continued. She motioned to Davy to turn down the sound of the television. “I didn't hear you. Who did you say you were?”

The woman's voice was steely. “Why don't you turn off those cartoons, please?”

Abbie grabbed the remote control out of Davy's hand and turned off the television. “I'm sorry,” she said again. “My little brother—”

“Please pay attention,” the woman said. “As I told you, my name is Judith Wilhite. I'm president of the organization Friend to Friend.”

“Oh—oh, y-yes,” Abbie stammered. She sat on the remote control and turned her back so
that she didn't have to look at the faces Davy was making at her. “I'm Abbie—uh—Abigail Th—”

“I know. My husband informed me about you and your circumstances.” Mrs. Wilhite's words remained so clipped and cold that Abbie hunched her shoulders, her back pressing uncomfortably against her kitchen chair.

“The girls who are volunteers in our program are top students and leaders in their high schools. It's certainly not standard rules or even good judgment to add to this outstanding group a girl who has been in criminal trouble and is on probation. However, my husband has convinced me to give you a try.”

Sick at heart, Abbie struggled to keep her mind on what Mrs. Wilhite was saying. Criminal trouble? A girl on probation? The label made Abbie feel like some terrible kind of lowlife.

“Gimme!” Davy said, and held out his hand for the remote control.

Mrs. Wilhite told Abbie that a package of information had been sent by messenger to her home. “Please read all the rules carefully. If there are any questions, just telephone our secretary's number on the first sheet of the booklet. I believe you agreed to pay an afternoon call today on the woman who'll be assigned to you?”

“Yes, ma'am,” Abbie answered.

“Very well,” Mrs. Wilhite said. “I hope there won't be any problems.”

“No, there won't,” Abbie said, but Mrs. Wilhite had already hung up the phone.

“Before Mom went to her office, she said I could watch Saturday-morning cartoons!” Davy yelled at Abbie. “Gimme back the control.”

Abbie sighed and handed Davy the remote control. He didn't used to be so argumentative. He'd always been a happy kid, and they'd had fun together. Now he was angry most of the time. He hadn't heard Dad's parting words, as Abbie had, but it didn't matter. Davy must still feel as rejected as Abbie did.

“That was an important phone call,” she tried to explain. “It was all about something I have to do to make up for what happened last night.”

Davy clutched the remote control, but he didn't turn on the television. He cocked his head, studying Abbie with curiosity. “You threw rocks at Dad and his girlfriend,” he said. “I heard some of what Mom said to Mrs. Erwin.”

“I didn't throw rocks at anybody,” Abbie told him. “Dad and … that woman had already driven off. I threw them at the front window of her apartment. I didn't know she had a roommate and she'd be there.”

Davy smiled. “I wish I'd seen that. I wish I'd seen the police come. Did they have their sirens on?”

Abbie groaned. “I shouldn't have done it, Davy. I was angry. I wasn't thinking. No matter how I felt about what Dad was doing, I shouldn't have thrown the rocks. Do you understand that what I did was wrong, and now I have to make up for it?”

“They didn't put you in jail.”

“No, but I'm on probation. The judge gave me a job to do. That's what the phone call was all about. Do you want me to tell you more?”

“No,” Davy said. He held out the remote control toward the television set and turned his back on Abbie.

Before the package arrived, Abbie put the dishes in the dishwasher, changed the sheets on the beds, added some towels to the laundry, and put the first load into the washer. Then just as ordered, she sat down and read everything in the large envelope. The printed flyers and letter told her the same things the judge had said, but they also gave her a name, phone number, and address.

The telephone rang again, and Abbie grabbed it before Davy could get to it.